


Miniver

by fichuntie



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Agate - Freeform, Anal Sex, Canon Typical Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Eagerness, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Fur, Group Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Sensation Play, Sex Toys, Verbal Humiliation, my kink is detailed descriptions of historical luxury goods, stone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fichuntie/pseuds/fichuntie
Summary: Ambassador Torveld and Erasmus visit Lord Berenger and his pet. Ancel "helps" Erasmus setting into his rooms before the ambassador arrives, hopefully without the slave getting revenge for his cruel treatment last in Vere.Erasmus does his best to help Ancel learn the differences between miniver and rabbit fur. Also, managing Torveld's indulgences while back in Vere.





	1. Chapter 1

Ancel scoffed as he watched the procession into Berenger’s home. He’d enjoyed the attention, the gifts, the opulence that were finally owed to him as the long term pet of Berenger. But Ancel hated the diplomatic duties that came with it, especially when it came with the worst of the sniveling brats: Erasmus. Berenger, as usual, was out horseback riding to avoid the incoming delegation and Ancel felt a pang of longing for his own strawberry mare. The purpose of a pet was to take on the diplomatic and showy tasks their owner disliked. So Ancel was here in the castle to greet Erasmus before Ambassador Torveld’s full retinue arrived. 

Ancel stomped to the courtyard. 

Erasmus took the proffered hand of a servant and dismounted from his horse. Ancel sniffed. The horse wasn’t as pretty nor as tall as his. Erasmus looked around the courtyard, curls bouncing prettily even after the hours on the road. A better pet would’ve styled their hair specifically for the road. Berenger loved pulling Ancel’s hair out of braids after trips to the capitol. Of course, the sniveling brat wouldn’t have the initiative or thought to arrange that. 

“Where’s your owner, slave?” Ancel snapped.

Erasmus’ hazel eyes caught on Ancel, and his face lit into a cautious smile.

“Greetings from this one on behalf of his master Ambassador Torveld. We are pleased to meet you again,” Erasmus said. At least he’d learned Veretian even if his vowels had the slow pull of Patran dialects. Ancel hated the little airhead sounding traveled where his own affected speech was clearly city-borne. “King Laurent sends along his gratitude as well.”

“And where is Torveld?” Ancel pushed, unimpressed. 

“The ambassador is behind our procession. He thought that if it pleases we might do well together to reminisce and then speak with Berenger on his later arrival.”

“Then you can retire to the servant’s quarters as I have nothing to remember about a foreign slave,” Ancel flicked a red nail towards the lower section of the keep. 

Except Erasmus very quietly responded, "As this one lives to please, would it not please your master to have both of his guests close at hand?" 

"He is not my master! And I remember you knew to do as you were told!"

"This one begs pardon. Would your lord put an honored guest, even a humble slave, so far from the proper household and his master? Perhaps this one does not understand Veretian custom.” 

Ancel paused with a hand twisting in his hair. He knew Berenger wouldn't like the snub to his guest after all the long firelit chats about the increasing connection with Patras for Prince Laurent. While Berenger might not take it out on his hide, he would give one of his sincere disappointed looks and refuse to fuck Ancel for days. This wasn’t worse than listening to Lord Druet. 

“Fine!”


	2. Chapter 2

Ancel led Erasmus to the room across from Lord Berenger and his own attached rooms. As the guards saw the two coming, they quickly opened the doors to the guest rooms. Erasmus went to the bed, knelt, and under his lashes took in the room. His muddy green eyes caught on aspects as he spoke softly: 

"This one will wait while proper tapestries are fetched, the hearth is started properly, and a setting of food is prepared for my master."

Ancel's freckles stood out on his pale face, whitened with mortification. The slave would ask him to do menial labor. The brat was trying to get back at him for the fire dance more than a year ago. His muscles clenched in shame underneath his long green silks. Ancel waited for the haughty laughter. 

"Perhaps this one should fetch the steward with your permission?" Erasmus’ eyes flickered up from the floor. His legs shook as he shifted on the floor. 

“Yes, the steward.” Ancel turned away from Erasmus in a flutter of silk and gossamer. He stomped past the guards with no word to them or the slave. With each step towards the servants at the end of the hall, Ancel regathered his composure. He’d outmaneuvered every pet in high Veretian court. A slave that balked at coals wasn’t going to embarrass him. 

At the end of the private hall, he ordered the servants to fetch the steward to the guest quarters. Berenger had already arranged the servants to prepare the guest quarters after first hearing of Torveld’s trip. Ancel had come in last night and removed each of the cushions laid over the ground. When he returned to the guest quarters, he found Erasmus kneeling elegantly over the hard tile floors. Ancel sprawled over one of the chairs. At least some things were still going to his pleasure. Let the lazy brat feel it when he took it like a dog from the ambassador. He fiddled with his necklace to make the tanzanite gems catch the light. Only Berenger had the trade route to Africa to get it. The slave gave him an idiotic smile with no hint of jealousy. 

The steward arrived with a great flourish as the guards opened the door. The dour man fit Berenger’s preference: brown and forgettable. He presented some of the beautiful blankets and tapestries that Ancel tired of. Each time Erasmus found some precise technical fault with them that made them unfit for the ambassador, but not himself of course. Ancel’s nails scraped along the polished wood of his seat’s arms. 

“I’m afraid that these are the last of the decor meant for the solar.” The steward subsided his display with a wary look at Ancel. The stack of rejected fabrics would have made his first merchant piss himself with jealousy. 

“Then fetch something nice meant for the Lord’s room.” Ancel was going to show Erasmus how very much better his life and his Berenger were.

It’s not as if Berenger would notice furs missing for a single night. When the steward came out with the pure white fur, Ancel twirled one of his amethyst earrings and smirked down at Erasmus who was still knelt on the floor. His knees must ache after hours crouched on the hard stone and soon his pride would have matching bruising. 

“Will miniver please your master, slave?"

Erasmus is very small as he runs his hands over the fur. His chiton in plain white linen had little holes along the edge as if it was moth eaten. His nails are short and very plain with no rings on the fingers. His skin is not as pale as Ancel so the contrast between the flesh-pink nails and sun kissed skin on the snow white miniver was poor and unattractive. He sighed very quietly and settled back on the floor.

"May this one please speak to you privately?"

"No." The steward was a poor audience, but Ancel took his victories. 

"This one is most saddened to say this is not miniver. It is rabbit fur. Your mas- your lord has been cheated, this one is sad to acknowledge."

Ancel remembered when he coaxed Berenger to buy the fur blankets, how his red hair looked on the not-miniver white fur, how he'd curled in the luxury of it as Berenger fucked him in it. He remembered Berenger slowly admitting the apparently-rabbit-furs were quite soft between laughing breaths against his thighs. Ancel remembered the next lazy morning, spreading his pearls and jewels over the fur for Berenger to pick for him to wear before fucking again. 

Anyway, the point is, Ancel realizes that Erasmus is not an ungrateful brat with no skills, but a very different kind of luxury. A luxury that perhaps, many of the lords in Vere were too lacquered to recognize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr is fichuntie](https://fichuntie.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

“The question of the quarries will not be settled tonight. Let us retire,” Torveld offers as he stretched out of the library chair. Berenger’s map spread out on the table with pieces of parchment scattered across. They’ve progressed to a tepid agreement that might grow to a better trade tariff for the approval of both kings. 

He follows Berenger up to the guest rooms, their chatter petering off from official topics to their companions. Berenger opens the guest room to Torveld. Torveld relaxes with thoughts of sliding his and Erasmus’ chitons aside. But the pretty slave is not there. Torveld steps into the room, curious as usually Erasmus would stay up waiting for him. He’d finally convinced him to curl up in bed rather than on the floor beside. The familiar details that Erasmus knew would be a balm are there: a Patran spread of food and the hearth’s warmer than the standard in Vere. 

“Erasmus was here. He would not have left on his own,” Torveld looks to Berenger.

“Ancel likely has him.” Berenger looks exasperated but fond. Pets were more impertinent than slaves, of course. 

Berenger crosses the hall to his room. Berenger opens the plain wood door himself, not even hesitating for a servant. Inside they find Ancel and Erasmus in his quarters with drawers of fabrics drawn out and great piles of things on the floor. The faux-miniver fur that   
Ancel hoarded is on the floor underneath Erasmus' knees as the two pour over a clutch of jewels. Berenger’s severe face drops into astonishment. Torveld comes up behind the Lord and takes in his darling slave being, seemingly, doted on by the most expensive pet in court.

“If they are paste, then they do not suit a pet like me. But they do suit a slave,” Ancel twists some of the gems into Erasmus' curls. Erasmus ducks his head, not quite able to hide a wry smile. 

Berenger gasps. At the noise, two sets of green eyes turn to the door. Erasmus leaps up to greet him, long legged and eager.

"This one has been of help to the household as it pleases my master," he says to Torveld, and then with a sly press against him so lips brush against his ear: “I might forgive Ancel for his actions last at court."

As quickly, his smiling lips move away from the ambassador's ear as Erasmus falls to his knees. Berenger gives Torveld a familiar look, indulgent, as the man drops a hand into the golden curls. 

All of Berenger's gifts are on display, gold and silk tumbling out of drawers and cabinets. Torveld sometimes forgets the expense of keeping a pet, but this puts his host’s wealth on obscene display. Berenger hasn’t seen such a mess since Ancel first packed for court early in their contract. Except there's no fur blanket wrapped around him, his favorite. Ancel is still preoccupied with re-evaluating the worth of his gems and furs and silks. 

"Please don't ruin diplomatic relations for me, Ancel," Berenger warns. 

Ancel huffs with a pout and roll of his shoulders which slides his silk robes down and exposes his clavicles underneath his necklace. Berenger relents. Torveld's besotted attention is on Erasmus, ignoring all the wealth of the pet in beauty and jewels for his familiar slave. Berenger is alike: the sight of Ancel slinking towards their table is still as arresting to him as the first time he’d seen the pet in the pit. Even years later in the familiar bedroom he can feel his blood rise. 

"It's been so long since I last saw Erasmus. He was giving me such good advice about the inadequacies of our steward. But we can deal with the cheat tomorrow. How can we repay Torveld for lending such a useful thing to us?" Ancel settles against Berenger’s chair. His silk sleeves draped over the table as he chose from the tray of dates and cheeses. 

Berenger opens his mouth to respond and Ancel shoves a block of cheese in. 

"Perhaps that one can show me how to better entertain a crowd?"

Torveld is an easily manipulated man so he watches Ancel lick sugar from a slice of fruit and curl his red talons across Berenger's brown coat. Torveld shifts in his seat and looks down at Erasmus' golden curls and wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm likely to go back and fuss with past chapters


	4. Chapter 4

Ancel pulls him up by the chain the paste jewels are on. 

“I shouldn’t need this with such an obedient slave,” Ancel wraps the chain around Erasmus’ throat. It winds around twice, a darker gold with copper. Another small reminder of the little thefts the steward had allowed. Ancel’s nails click against it as he wraps it. The chain end is long enough to trail down Erasmus’ neck but not enough to brush a nipple. So Ancel pinches them. His sleeves brush against skin as he pinches the nipples to a peak. The contrast of his green silk is much better on the reddened flesh. Erasmus keeps very quiet. The trembling in his leg and the sharp sensation of his chest increase but he stays still. 

“Do they not make noise in Patras?” Ancel digs a nail in. “I remember Damianos was quite loud with me in the garden.”

“Erasmus’ nature is to yield,” Torveld takes a considering drink. His favorite despite the foreign country. “Although he sings very prettily once he does.”

Ancel looks back at the burnished curls. The brat has slid his gaze to his master, resigned to his treatment. Still, he’s soft and pliant barely more motivated than a toy in Ancel’s hands.

“Then I shall give him something to yield to.” Ancel laughs, throwing his head back so his neck catches the firelight. “Go sit on the bed, slave.” Haughty again. 

Ancel pulls out the velvet bag from beside the bed. He turns to his audience, making sure his back obscures the bag from Erasmus’ view. 

“Would the ambassador like a demonstration of one of our exports?” 

“You are very skilled as I remember your fire dancing. But I hardly see how a quarry will fit in that bag.” Torveld laughs with a conspiratory grin at Berenger. Lord Berenger’s severe face is placid, but Ancel sees the lust in his lord after so many years together.

So he shows the toy to Torveld. It’s the second one Berenger has gotten him. The first had been spotted agate. Ancel had thrown it at Berenger, thinking he was making fun of his freckles. This new one is his favorite. Banded carnelian stones, a paler orange than his hair even after lye soap. The pale cream bands had reminded Berenger of his flesh, he’d said, as he dropped the stones into Ancel’s open palm. The stones look good in his palm now in the firelight. A pale band of gold links them together, one after another. Ancel closes his hand over it, smirking. One gift Erasmus is unlikely to doubt the provenance of. 

Berenger slides the vial of oil to Ancel. 

“Lie down, slave Erasmus. I’m sure you get practice with that.”

And Erasmus does, a very pleasing arc of skin with pink nipples. The way he folds to the bed drapes the thin cotton high on his thighs. At least the brat has the sense to be lengthwise so the whole tableau is displayed to their lords. Ancel rips of a strip of it, very easy on the expensive fabric. Ancel likes how the boy shudders at the ripping, loud in the room, so he slides a hand down his leg and pushes it to the bed. They will look very pretty together. 

“Close your eyes.”

Torveld makes a motion, out of the corner of Ancel’s eye. But Berenger grasps his arm and whispers something. The other man stops with a hand clenched around his goblet. Ancel ties the blue strip of fabric over the boy’s eyes. 

Who can say no to hospitality in Vere?


	5. Chapter 5

Ancel shoves the first stone in, cold and only with the smooth push of the polish and his determination. Erasmus' body takes it, swallowing it up, but the slave gasps and whines  
as if that will stop his betters.

"His body is so eager. Is he so eager for you, ambassador?"

Ancel can see the way Erasmus is ready to gasp an answer - something effacing and willing - so he pushes the second stone in, larger and round. Still barely more than a finger. Small and cold they must shock the body, the way his rim clenches at the widest radius. Erasmus shocked sigh, then relenting. 

“Ancel, be mindful,” Berenger warns. 

He pulls the gold string, so the two jostle inside as his knuckles brush against the rim wet with oil. His other hand scratches at Erasmus' chest, drawing red lines down.

“I think he’s eager for it,” Ancel assures. 

Ancel slides his finger into the boy’s body, brushing against the stones. They’ve only ever been inside him and now this other body. He presses another in with a loose bit of chain, feeling the cool stone against his finger and the oil. He makes sure to press his wrist against the bed so the lords can see. This is what Berenger does to him, sees him take into his body. Ancel presses his finger up against one of the stones so it presses just — 

Erasmus hips cant. He’s a lovely bridge, only his head and hips on the bed. 

Ancel withdraws his finger. Erasmus falls back to the bed, like it’s over. 

Ancel tuts, “Ask for it,” and presses in the fourth.

“T-torveld,” Erasmus pleads, forgetting himself because it’s only ever been Torveld who opened him up like this, but this is nothing like his master’s cock. To be pressed so insistently: it’s like the gold thread again. Hard stone with no give. The very edge of submission to hold out his pleasure and the teasing hint of too much. When he looks down his body at Ancel, the pet is almost as lofty.

“It’s me you need to beg,” Ancel smiles at him, pretty.

“Please,” Erasmus relented, a pretty shake of his curls so the paste gems catch the fire light. Ancel will have to remember that move. 

“Very good,” Ancel traces a finger along his cock, dripping from the stimulation. It’s cruel when they both know the show has barely begun. “But I saw Damen’s cock. You were trained to take more.”

Erasmus turns his head against the sheets, looking towards Torveld. His eyes land on Torveld who sits wide legged and pleased. Ancel pushes the next in at that moment so Erasmus’ is looking shocked at Torveld as the stone opens him up and disappears in his body. Torveld can see his body close around it, winking almost overful. The fourth, wider than the others, almost a fist. Erasmus can barely comprehend how it feels inside him with the other stones pressing too. 

“Would you like to see?” Ancel asks Torveld. Ancel dangles the long gold chain from his fingers, playing Erasmus’ body like fire as the stones move with the chain. 

“Yes,” Torveld says, already walking towards the bed. 

Ancel pulls the fourth stone out. A gasp from Erasmus.

“Let your master see how greedy you are,” Ancel demands.

Erasmus looks up at Torveld. His fingers brush against the paste gems, pushing back some of his curls to better meet his eyes. Erasmus looked up adoring. 

“Take it like a greedy slut,” Ancel said. 

Torveld’s fingers have calluses where Ancel is soft. Torveld’s fingers are gentle, barely pressing the stone in. Erasmus felt his cock twitch and dribble with the teasing, ignored by the two. Ancel presses too, sometimes with the dangerous scrape of a long nail, but he lets Torveld decide when to push the stone back in fully. Slow, arduous, and meant to be earned. 

“Sweet Erasmus,” Torveld murmured, his other hand on the gold collar. 

And he pressed the toy back inside. With a shiver, Erasmus took it. Felt the press into his body and the weight of Torveld’s hands on his shoulders as the toy pressed the other beads deeper. 

“Thank you,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

"What's he like on a cock?" Ancel asks, projecting his voice for Torveld and Berenger, fingers sliding up to cup Erasmus' balls. He can feel the weight of them, hairless, and it makes him want to pinch. So he does. Erasmus almost lifts again with an intake of breath, but his limbs are heavy. 

"Find out," Torveld offers.

Ancel had seen pets like Erasmus, like the lord's lovely diamond dripping pet in the ring, and he wanted to fuck this slave even more. Berenger hasn't let him in the ring for over a year since their long term contract had been signed. Ancel liked fucking, the rare pleasure of being in control and using another body. Fucking the slave with a stone wasn't enough. Not when he could have an Akelion pleasure slave on his cock, a pleasure fit for a prince. 

“He should be grateful for stones, fingers, a cock. But he’s spoiled, isn’t he?”

Berenger, of course, is loving this: Ancel a little mussy with exertion, hair half falling out of his braids with the exertion of opening Erasmus up, and the reflected admiration of Torveld making him preen. Berenger slides a hand down to his own cock, hard, but he doesn’t want to ruin Ancel’s fun. Erasmus spreads his legs but waiting obedient for Ancel or Torveld's word. 

“He submits to it, perfectly,” Torveld says, “So perfect on my cock.”

Torveld pulls out the stones, a large soothing hand on Erasmus' face as the largest stone stretches on the way out. His fingers on the blushing over exerted cheek and his wrist on the cool collar. Ancel lays his hand over Torveld and slides the other stones out, quick with a single motion. Erasmus twitches, his cock dribbling, and he whines high in the back of his throat. 

“Don’t come. You don’t get to come on anything but my cock,” Ancel orders. 

Ancel fucks into him, not bothering to ask for permission. A Veretian in his proper place over an Akelion brat. The attention on him as he slides in is almost as good as the tight clutch of the slave. Ancel tosses his head like Strawberry did on a good trot, scarlet hair tumbling down his back and catching on the purple necklace. He rolls his hips slowly so the lords can see the play of muscles as he thrusts into Erasmus. Erasmus yields, trained to take a lion. 

Ancel makes sure to dip his head against Erasmus' ear and murmur, “How well they trained you to be a slut for any cock on an order,” and bites along his neck, green eyes glinting at Torveld who can't hear them over the sounds of flesh on flesh. He’s not sure if Torveld would like the talk, but Erasmus feels so good when he tightens up in shame or pleasure. 

 

 

Ancel fucks hard, like a lord in a brothel. As good as his time fucking the Roulant-pet in the ring. Except Erasmus isn't like a pet. Where a pet would please his lord and the covetous eye of the other bidders, Erasmus' hazy gaze is on Ancel. Erasmus is tight and wet, despite the toy, with rolling contractions of his core meant to please Ancel.

It doesn’t make sense.

Worse, the simpering noises, gasps and whimpers that go straight to Ancel’s cock. No pleasing words to his master or provocative banter, just helpless surrender. Erasmus must be making so much noise because King Damen loved hearing his partners. 

“You are louder then the whores left in the ring," Ancel tells him. 

Torveld - and even Damen- always mean to be giving, attentive to their slaves. Torveld wants to wrap his fingers around Erasmus' cock as Ancel fucks him, but the slide of their bodies it too fast, too brutal. Torveld likes how Erasmus has his mouth open and how easily he follows Ancel’s directions. He draws closer and places his hands in Erasmus hair to get a better view. The gems are cool, but Erasmus' curls are warm, a little damp with sweat. A few of the paste gems have begun to dissolve. Erasmus tries to twist his hands towards his master, the movements slow in the heavy pleasure. 

Ancel growls out, “Keep your hands above your head. Your master may have use of them.” 

Erasmus obeys as easily if they were bound by gold string again. His cock drips slowly after the stones had pushed against his prostate and as Ancel pushes hard against it with each thrust. 

Always eager, always yearning, Erasmus pushes his head against Torveld's hand.

“Put him on your cock, prince,” Ancel demands.

The slave's mouth opens more as he nuzzles against Torveld's hand. Wet moans as Torveld opens his laces are sweeter than the apricots. Except Ancel presses his hand against Erasmus' throat on the next rippling motion into his open body. His ringed pale fingers tease against the body-warm gold collar.

“Will Berenger be able to see you in his throat?” Ancel grasps the wrapped copper chain. 

Now that Torveld has joined the display, Berenger felt off being the only on-loooker and came up behind Ancel.   
Ancel gives a fake whimper, “and here I thought you were enjoying my performance,” as his hand snaked behind to grab Berenger's cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr is fichuntie](https://fichuntie.tumblr.com/)
> 
> this is up and the chapter count increased bc i am struggling w the last bit. 4 ppl is more than 3 ppl. 
> 
> some minor edits to previous chapters as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Ancel makes sure to push Erasmus’ legs up and apart so the other nobles can see how well and hard Ancel fucks him. Pushes Erasmus’ leg to the bed to look at the practiced flexibility as he follows easily and to let the lords see the pliant exposure. Ancel had always known Erasmus could have the court in his hands if the brat had any motivation, but Erasmus seems to only have easy submission under men’s hands. The long line from his neck to the cock curved against his stomach to the legs split aside. He hears Torveld groan at the sight of the sloppy hole split wide on his cock. Ancel’s better: the fire to advance, to fuck his way forward and into him.

“The ambassador liked that. Do it again.” Ancel tilted his hips to match the order. Erasmus gave a sighing groan and they could see his throat work on Torveld’s length. 

Berenger fucks into Ancel. Ancel let out a little gasp and turns his head to sloppily kiss Berenger. He draws his hair to the side, no reason to get it tangled. It’ll look better for Torveld too, if he ever manages to tear his eyes away from his cock sliding out of Erasmus’ mouth.

“Fuck the slave, darling,” Berenger draws back from the kiss to say. Turning his head, Ancel rolls his eyes where he can’t see. He knows what to do. 

Berenger starts slow behind him, letting Ancel drive the rhythm between them. He tends to prefer slow besotted rutting anyway. Erasmus is pushed on the bed with each thrust, the weight of two men bearing him towards Torveld’s cock. Ancel leans forward, one hand on Erasmus’ chest the other on the bed. His fingers almost brush Torveld’s thigh but he doesn’t think Torveld would like his talons; Akelions usually don’t so he keeps his fingers on the sheets, whispering his knuckles to stoke the man’s lust. Ancel uses the leverage to thrust hard. Erasmus is so wet and open from the stones and easy to fuck into. He’s going to burn up too soon if he forgets his audience.

“He’s so yielding,” Ancel pinches a nipple, just because he can. Not even tacky with paint, he scoffs, but at least it feels good when the slave tightens up on his cock. Berenger likes how Ancel clenches too in pleasure. He kisses at Ancel’s freckled shoulder open mouthed. “Enjoy it, Ancel.”

Erasmus doesn’t know how to be showy. Ancel didn’t realize it with the stones, but the art of the slave is different. Erasmus clenches on Ancel, shuddering sighs that match the tight clutch of his body. Berenger and Torveld can’t see it, the service Erasmus gives aside from the twitches of his cock as he tightens for Ancel. Pets in the ring never bother with giving each other pleasure in the ring. All that matters is what the audience sees. More so, the pool of precome on the slave’s stomach is flattering, obscene flattery to Ancel’s ego as Erasmus whines. Ancel isn’t the one who needs compliments. It’s luxury that isn’t performative, but sweetly offered for its intended recipient. He took each deep pounding thrust with whimpering submission. He’d burn up in Vere, under Ancel in the pits. 

“I think the slut will come from being fucked by all three of us, serving on his back because he was ordered to,” Ancel hisses. 

Like sliding his fingers in fur, feeling the underfur reshape around his fingers, soft and warm. The heavy weight of miniver on cold nights, enveloping. He could reshape Erasmus anyway he wanted, slide into his warmth and sincere eagerness. 

Ancel revels in it. 

“Fuck,” Torveld groaned and pulled back from Erasmus’ mouth, fingers tight around the base of his cock. His eyes bright with lust and the firelight as he took in the scene. 

“Master?,” Erasmus blinked hazily at him, lost without the cock. His voice was the same sighing servility, but hoarser. He felt behind his head until he touched Torveld’s hip. “May this one please you?”

“You’ve pleased me. I was about to come in your sweet mouth,” Torveld pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I want to see you, love.”

“This one is honored by your praise,” Erasmus said. 

Ancel could feel exactly how honored he was, tightening at the praise. Ancel rolls his hips, showy enough to be good for Toveld and grind his ass against Berenger. Grinning, Berenger hooked his chin on Ancel’s shoulder.

“I think he will. I think he will because he’s been told to.” Berenger says gruffly. His hands slow Ancel’s hips. 

Torveld strokes his cock, tapping the red length against Erasmus’ lips. The boy kept his mouth open, mewling at the head of Torveld’s cock. 

Torveld brushed his fingers against Erasmus’ curls, tangling a little in the chain of jewels as stroked. His master leans over to stroke the pectoral that Ancel wasn’t leaning on. If not for the teasing pinches, Torveld would look adoring, bent over his slave and smiling at him. 

“Good boy.” Torveld came over Erasmus’ mouth, splattering down to his neck. The translucent come does look very pretty on the gold collar. 

“Please, please, master,” Erasmus licked his lips, pink tongue swallowing the bit of spend on his mouth. Torveld draws back a little. 

“Ask our hosts.” Ancel smears a finger along the droplets on the boy’s neck then leans back to assess the audience. He had all of their attention, two powerful men looking to his decision about fucking into a pliant slave. 

Erasmus turned his face to Ancel, sweet and pleading. Pretty like the gemstones at Ancel’s neck, with the hint of tears in his eyes, “Please, may you permit me to come if it might please you?”

The curling pleasure at possessing the slave. He was so close. The praising attention of Berenger at his back as the man slowly ground his hips while Ancel considered. Ancel didn’t bother to touch the boy’s cock, flushed and twitching between their stomachs. He thrusts forward, harder, stoking the moment into the flame. He’s losing the four-count rhythm as he gets caught up in his own pleasure. He wanted this malleable pleasure. 

“Come, slave,” he commanded. 

And Erasmus did. On his word. An expertise that wasn’t taught in brothels for copper. And it was his, splayed out for him. Ancel sped up, and came. The sight of the slave coming without ever having a hand on his cock was enough to undo him. Ancel’s final movements seemed to draw out the slave’s orgasm, the way his dark lashes fluttered and his body kept trying to milk Ancel’s cock. Both of them gasp, breathy. He can barely feel Berenger filling him with come so exquisite is the pleasure, an extended wave of orgasm. 

“Thank you,” Erasmus says, half muffled in the sheets. He looks a mess, covered in come, scratch marks, and the melted paste gems. Still feels good though. 

“Thanks for the advice about the fur,” Ancel smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> four people is too many  
> poor berenger, you were forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a discord story time i started.


End file.
